


Boys of Summer

by rivlee



Series: Brooklyn Avengers [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Sports, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Baseball Winter Meetings are officially over for the off season, and the Brooklyn Avengers' captain has just stumbled home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boys of Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the that [Brooklyn Avengers 'verse](http://antiquecompass.tumblr.com/search/brooklyn+avengers) I've mumbled about on tumblr. For Spuzz, who kind of inspired the whole thing.

The Baseball Winter Meetings had successfully concluded four hours ago with the annual banquet crowning the King of Baseball, but as opposed to spending one more night in the place that Walt Disney built, Steve Rogers had insisted on driving back to Miami. Bucky would’ve lied if anyone accused him of watching the clock for Steve’s return, but luckily no one else was in the house to judge him. It was past midnight when Steve finally pulled in the garage. Bucky looked up from the latest endorsement contract Right Guard had sent their way when he heard the familiar sound of low cursing and stumbling feet as the door slammed open.

“There’s a reason why you squat for a living,” Bucky yelled out in greeting. 

Steve gave him a one finger salute as he shed tie and suit jacket across the front hall. The man who collapsed down next to Bucky—with his disheveled hair and dress shirt stuck to his sweaty skin—was as far removed from the public image of Steve Rogers, Team Captain of the Brooklyn Avengers as you could get, but it was the real punk before him who Bucky had known since T-Ball.

“Beer?” he asked.

Steve nodded and laughed when Bucky passed over his own. 

Steve’s exhaustion was clear in the limp hair and drooping eyelids, but of course the fucking idiot wouldn’t let himself give into it. He’d just survived a whole long weekend of being his polite public image and world class charming-self during the Winter Meetings and then, because he was a stubborn fucking asshole who couldn’t be told no, had decided to make the drive from Orlando to Miami after closing ceremonies. 

If he didn’t care about him so much Bucky would probably punch him in the face. 

He leaned over and took the now empty bottle from Steve’s hand. “Christ, Rogers, go take a shower. You smell like Cage’s jockstrap.”

“So smooth, so charming; that’s my Bucky Barnes,” Steve said.

Bucky lightly slapped him on the back of the head. “Go. I got some questions for you once I don’t have to worry about you pitching forward into my very expensive coffee table.”

“Should’ve just gone to Ikea,” Steve said. “Not like we got any class between us.”

“Fuck you. I’m the classiest motherfucker you know. I even got fancy toothpicks, coasters, and cloth napkins in my kitchen like civilized rich folks. Now go.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Steve finally agreed. He heaved himself up. “Dinner?” he asked just as he got to the bedroom.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “A smart man would’ve stopped for something.”

“I wanted to get back here to you,” Steve said with a perfectly straight face. 

“Such a fucking sap,” Bucky said even as he felt his lips quirk up in a smile. “I’m sure it had _nothing_ to do with the fact that Wilson’s flying in tomorrow and how you want to pick him up from the airport like the properly mannered young man your momma raised you to be. I know how it goes. The romance is dead. I’m being traded in for a taller, hotter model.”

He kind of deserved the balled up socks that Steve threw in his face. 

“Your arm’s a little weak there, son,” Bucky called. 

The dirty shorts that followed were just an insult.

 

“So, Barton?” Bucky asked once Steve had been washed, fed, and pushed into bed.

Steve tangled his legs with Bucky’s own as he flopped over his chest. He took a deep breath and laid his head down on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Don’t ask me how, but Coulson and Natasha dug up enough info to snatch him from the Astros. I don’t know how they did it. I don’t want to know what means were used. I want to be able to keep looking Clint Barton in the eye and cling to my plausible deniability.”

“We got a shortstop though,” Bucky said. “An experienced one with talent whose name is synonymous with Golden Glove.”

“Got a crush there?” Steve asked.

Bucky toyed with the rat’s nest that was Steve’s hair. “He does have a marvelous ass. Yours is better, of course.”

“Nice save,” Steve muttered. “He asked me what Brooklyn has to avenge.”

“All the new ones do,” Bucky said. “They just don’t get it.”

“ _You_ didn’t get it at first,” Steve said.

It was one of those subjects they tried to leave out of the bedroom. Bucky hadn’t wanted a career in the shadow of _the_ Steve Rogers, so when he had the chance to get as far away from New York as he could, he took it. He’d be an asshole teenage college freshman douchebag all-star at the time he got drafted, shoved into the Minors, and signed with the Angels. Steve had finished college that same year—a year early, because someone was an overachiever— and when he allowed himself to be part of the draft had made it pretty damn obvious he would turn down any offer that wasn’t Brooklyn. Unlike the rest of the baseball world, it never baffled Bucky that Steve Rogers would make a lifelong career decision based off nothing but hope and faith. That was just the kind of man Steve Rogers was, even when he was a skinny kid drowning in team jerseys and holding aluminum bats bigger than his own arms. 

“Just wasn’t ready yet,” Bucky said to stave off any of the old hurt and arguments. “You know I’ve gotta have you lead the way first. You’re the guy I follow.”

Steve’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter before he settled down again. “We’ve got a solid infield now, Bucky. I can feel it.”

Bucky knew how much Steve had worried over their lack of a reliable shortstop. He wasn’t the manager, team owner, general manager, or fielding coach, but Steve took responsibility for the success and failure of his team. He cared that much about his players; as individuals on the field, as men in their private lives, and for everyone who worked in the franchise from the front office down to the stadium staff. 

The Avengers were still finding their way as a clubhouse and brand; it was never easy to be an expansion team, especially not in New York of all the sports cities in all the world. They had a stigma to overcome by virtue of being a young roster full of mostly new faces. They finally had a mixture of rookies and veterans, but were still trying to find the right set to make the kind of magic that only happened during late summer on baseball diamonds. A shortstop like Clint Barton? That was a fucking coup.

“Still need to fix your Stark problem,” Bucky said. Their ace starting pitcher was a handful who didn’t trust anyone in the bullpen. Or any catcher other than Steve. It was a slight problem.

“Working on it,” Steve promised. He tried to cover a yawn, but even all-star athletes were subject to the body’s needs.

“Go to sleep, you jackass,” Bucky said.

Steve’s face scrunched up for a moment before he gave a _mmmkay_ in reply, and his body finally went limp. Bucky knew he’d regret it in the morning when his whole back cursed him the fuck out for letting Biceps McGee use him as a teddy bear, but he still had two months until it was time to report for Spring Training. He needed to hold onto this while he could. 

They had a rule about not letting the off-season come into New York. They couldn’t risk the damage of that kind of press scrutiny on the team if word got out that the Avengers’ catcher and center fielder were more than just life-long friends, even if it was the worst kept secret in the clubhouse. New York was dead man's land in relationship terms. It was getting harder to remember those reasons why, but Bucky figured they both had ten years—tops— left until retirement. They could wait it out.


End file.
